Fate of the Empire
by Redsayn
Summary: The Galactic War is reaching its climax. Darth Malgus, the Sacker of Coruscant, is leading a rebellion against the Empire he claims to love, and Darth Marr, along with a collection of loyal soldiers, leads an attack against the heretic. Yet as the true Emperor's plans come to fruition, and with the Empire on the brink of total collapse, can the Galaxy survive?
1. Marr VS Malgus

**Fate of the Empire**

 **Chapter 1: Marr VS Malgus**

The Empire. A stagnate beast whose tremendous power could have once known no limitations, yet was eventually victimised by the petty squabbles of those who dared anoint themselves as Lords of the Sith. A tragedy, Malgus believed, that transcended the most renowned of the Republic's Operas -though he would admit that many of the so-called 'Darths' possessed a shallowness that rivalled even the vainest actors known to the galaxy.

Yet these Sith Lords were not deserving of the title… their incompetence in both the battlefield and preference in the realm of Sith politics was admittance to this- their continued existence was fuel to Malgus' omnipresent rage.

A rage that fed Malgus' power, and that was a power that would see the vermin at the height of the Empire eradicated.

For Malgus' hatred of these parasites was not caused solely by the stupidity and martial vulnerability of his supposed 'equals' and 'superiors', but was directed also at their misplaced bigoted views and often-times pointless, invalid and self-detrimental rage-these being showings of incompetence that would see the Empire, mighty and invulnerable as it should be, fall… and Malgus would not allow this vision to come to pass.

For the Empire was power, yet it was a power that was being poisoned by those who boasted of controlling it, and the cure for this poison was the antithesis of what the Dark Council, the former Emperor and the hundreds of short-sighted, self-absorbed aristocratic pure-bloods and humans would allow themselves to accept:

The resources and skills- the abilities and the powers of the alien species in both the ranks of the Sith and beyond that those in power squandered… they were the secret to ultimate victory over the Jedi and the Republic they defended. But only a unified Empire free of the prejudice that plagued it could hope to defeat a foe that was as resilient as the Galactic Republic, and it would take more than the pathetic politics of the Empire that currently existed for that utopia to become a reality.

Malgus would make it so, for his power was not limited to a single power-base, or even a collection of them that he had gained through black-mail or assassination, but an army of individuals and groups with a wide array of skills and powers that combined into a force capable, with the aid of the captured Foundry and the Stealth armada, of overthrowing the Council, and securing his status as the new Sith Emperor!

This was done, not due to ill-conceived notions of superiority, but recognition of the fact that the Empire required new leadership if it was to grow and prosper as was needed to avoid the otherwise inevitable failure of the war effort, and the downfall of the closest personification to war itself.

Despite this, there were those who would take action to not allow the Empire to grow; individuals such as the strike force that had been fighting its way through Malgus' trusted allies and soldiers in order to reach the Emperor's throne room… a destination they were reaching now

 _BA-THOOM!_

The impact of a Force push pounding against the many-times reinforced durasteel doors rang out across the vast room. Newly christened Imperial Guards strengthened their grips on their weapons as secret sweat began to move down their concealed faces.

A crunching, grating roar started to form, as the great doors started to bend and twist, to compress and fold in upon themselves until all that remained was one small, horrific ball suspended in the air by the limitless power of the Force. Malgus briefly considered how great potential was too-often wasted on the unworthy, when the ball fell to the floor with a crash, and the few dozen Imperial Soldiers that had survived the previous incursions charged into Malgus' current stronghold.

And there, striding in with his crimson Lightsaber lit, was Darth Marr himself.

Before the invading forces had made any noticeable amount of progress into the room, red-clad defenders had formed a line of soldiers willing to die to protect their Emperor and his ideals.

Marr held out his hand, and despite many of the invaders not being able to see their leader, they dutifully stopped their progress a significant amount of metres away from the defence.

"The Leader of the Council. Fitting that we meet within your master's chambers. He was kind enough to keep his throne warm for me." Malgus threw back the hood from his pale head, its colour having lost itself to the Dark Side long ago.

A commanding wave of his hand towards the Guard, and they started moving towards the exit that Marr had destroyed. The Soldiers seemed hesitant and wary, but Marr raised his hand again, and their fears seemed to be put to rest.

A few moments passed, and now Malgus was left only with people wishing his imminent death.

Marr placed his now deactivated blade upon his belt, and moved forward, his allies staying dutifully back, but with their weapons aimed at the Sacker of Coruscant.

Malgus continued, "Welcome to my throne room… So much history. So many glory days that slipped away from us.

"The Emperor is dead." Malgus raised from his seat on the elevated podium. "Long live the new Emperor."

Marr's voice betrayed no emotion, his body showed no fear, but the Force radiated from him in waves, and in those waves, Malgus felt a danger he had from few others.

"You're perseverance must be respected Malgus… but the actions you have taken to cement your power is an insult to the very foundations of the Empire you claim to serve!" Marr's words were cool and calm, but they rang with a furious power to Malgus. He sat once more, his golden eyes staring into the Dark Councillor's masked ones.

"You're not as foolish as I believed… The Empire is withering away. Soon it will be obliterated by decadence and antiquated ideals. Yet still you struggle to keep it from healing.

"Don't you see? Our survival demands a new Empire, tempered by alien alliances and strengthened by tolerance!"

"I am not blind to the Empire's weaknesses Malgus, but obliterating the Empire as we know it would leave us open to attack from the Republic- _you are weakening the Empire_!" For once, Marr's fury was made known as his voice rang with frustration.

Malgus didn't express any emotions as he said, "You are perceptive, but you still have much to learn." He rose.

"My stealth armada will destroy your fleet… and I will destroy you."

As the words left Malgus' mouth and were transmitted through the respirator, the entire station seemed to shake.

Malgus' head shot up to stare at the roof, as alarms started their wailing.

' _WARNING: CRITICAL EXPOLSIONS DETECTED ON THE FOUNDRY LEVEL. GENERATORS MANUALLY OVERLOADED BY USER ID ARKIS WODE.'_

Marr's blade sprung into his right hand and ignited upon impact. The Soldiers seemed to take this as their queue to attack, and fired upon the false Emperor.

In an instant, Malgus' Lightsaber leapt into his palm and created a circle of pure red, the blaster shots reflecting of it harmlessly.

"Enough!" Malgus announced, and gestured towards a computer of no apparent significance.

' _EMERGENCY WARNING. POWER CORE OVERRIDES ENGAGED. SELF-DESTRUCT INITIATED.'_ Explosions sounded towards the sides of the throne room, and smoke started billowing into the air; the Soldiers, black as death and supposedly just as formidable, jumped back in either nervousness or fear.

In the comparative silence, Marr rang out, "Malgus the Betrayer, in the name of the Empire, I will end you!"

Malgus stared at Marr for a fraction of a second- and then jumped of the podium. The force with which he landed created cracks upon the floor.

"Die, or defeat me. Either way, the Empire is reborn."

"Life is the enemy Malgus… death is our solace."

Malgus ran, and as he reached the top of the steps, he strengthened himself with the Force, and leapt forward. Upon landing, his arms spread out, and a burst of energy that he had been preparing since Marr had entered the room burst from his fingers.

Darth Marr raised his blade and his active defences strengthened, but even a Sith as powerful as he was blown backwards. He landed upon his feet and again raised his blade, as the remains of his now near-liquefied companions rained down upon him, decorating the grey of his armour with specks of blood.

Marr raised his head from his crouched pose, and his eyes, hidden as they were, met those of Malgus. They stayed still for the fraction of a second- and they charged.

Their blades met.


	2. An Empire Falls

" _Darth Marr raised his blade and his active defences strengthened, but even a Sith as powerful as he was blown backwards. He landed upon his feet and again raised his blade, as the remains of his now near-liquefied companions rained down upon him, decorating the grey of his armour with specks of blood._

 _Marr raised his head from his crouched pose, and his eyes, hidden as they were, met those of Malgus. They stayed still for the fraction of a second- and they charged._

 _Their blades met."_

 **Fate of the Empire**

 **Chapter 2: An Empire Falls**

The thrill of a duel with an opponent of rivalling skill was one he had long since been deprived- the eventual aching of the muscles, the rapid movements of the blade, the constant fear of defeat… Marr had envied this experience since Malgus and he had confronted Revan aboard the Foundry what seemed like years ago.

Yet here, now, with the man he had once deemed his most trustworthy ally… the anticipation of defeat or victory was once more being known to him.

Marr had no illusions as to whom was the most dangerous fighter out of the two of them. Malgus' superior battlefield experience with 'equals' was a much more advantageous factor than Marr's own utter annihilation of opponents utterly inferior to him- at least, it was so in a conflict between two individuals of seemingly comparable skill.

Marr's musings were interrupted by a savage, unexpected movement by Malgus; as the heretic's ravaging stroke was foiled by an instinctual move on the part of the defender, Malgus leapt backwards into the air and landed with a visible wave of the Force. Marr was capable of limiting the would-be devastating impact to a degree where he just stumbled backwards, yet was incapable of mustering a significant defence against Malgus' following Force push.

The impact stuck Marr like a meteor. He could feel his armour straining and in places breaking, and he knew that the only thing keeping his bones from suffering a similar fate was his own intimidating command over the Force.

Grunts escaped him as he skidded against the metallic floor, gasping groans leaving him as he struggled to stand.

"You do not seem well Marr. It appears age has not benefited you as it has me." It was true what Malgus had said. Marr had been ravished by the Dark Side as he had grown older, his power strengthening to an extent that, whilst formidable, was inferior to the degree that his body was weakening.

It seemed to the stalwart defender that, at long last, the price of the Dark Side was becoming too much to pay.

But he would not sacrifice the Empire he had sacrificed so much for.

"You may be right Malgus… but my goal here is not to defeat you… it is simply to delay you, until you are killed by your own arrogance." Marr was wheezing, his muscles aching, but the doubts of which he had been victim to only moments before were swept away by the clearance of Marr's goal.

His life did not matter- life was the enemy. A series of events put into motion by an entity which knew how everything would unfold eons before it did. No… death was his salvation. And today, he would find his solace…

And bring Malgus with him.

Again they charged, but instead of Marr exchanging blows, he conserved his energy. Whilst Malgus unleashed the power of the Dark Side upon Marr, the latter used his sword as his shield, as the Empire used him, and simply waited.

Lightning tore across the short distance between them, but Marr stopped its progress by catching it in his open palm-

And Malgus' blade swung up, and carved a tear into Marr's mask.

He staggered back, the lightning in his hand flying into the floor as he lost concentration. Again, Malgus gathered his power, and in a fraction of a second, unleashed a Force Storm of unadulterated power.

Marr looked up, and stared into Malgus' eyes with his own.

His Lightsaber was on the ground, dropped, forgotten.

And then then Lightning struck.

The smell of burnt metal punctured the air, the remainder of Marr's mask being burnt into his face as a high, chilling scream rang out throughout the space station. In that scream, Marr inserted his power, and unleashed it in the span of a moment's length.

Pillars buckled, the rare instances of smooth floor cracked, and Malgus dropped to his knees in an effort to survive the attack. The distraction was all that Marr needed. His eyes shining with the power of the Force, he reached out with his hand, lifted his igniting Lightsaber, and threw it like a spear-

The weapon punctured Malgus' heart.

Marr staggered backwards, yet his legs could not support him. He dropped to the ground, and waited. He just sat there, staring at the crumpled heap that was Malgus as his own blade dropped to the ground.

' _SECONDARY SYSTEMS FAILING: CORE POWER LEVELS CRITICAL!'_

Marr's head shot up, the sounds of explosions more prominent then before.

"…ha… I should have killed you on Korriban when I had the chance..." Malgus was still alive, but barely. He looked up, and while the rage was still there, as it always would, there existed no hatred towards his killer (at least, none more than there would be towards anyone else).

"That may be so Malgus… and I to you. But here, and now, 'Emperor', what are we to do… but die anyway." Marr said it with a bow that, whilst painful, conveyed his attitude towards the other man perfectly.

As one they looked towards the exit, as if sensing something.

The universe erupted.


	3. Secrets of the Sith

" _That may be so Malgus… and I to you. But here, and now, 'Emperor', what are we to do… but die anyway." Marr said it with a bow that, whilst painful, conveyed his attitude towards the other man perfectly._

 _-As one they looked towards the exit, as if sensing something._

 _The universe erupted._ "

 **Fate of the Empire**

 **Chapter 3: Secrets of the Sith**

Korriban. The source of the Sith order; a seemingly barren wasteland of red, mountainous terrain and ancient sculptures that had been imperative to the formation of the galaxy that had moulded history's most formidable individuals.

Yet to judge this planet based only on its physical appearance was an insult to both the planet and the Dark Side itself. For the planet of Korriban was more than just a rock moving through a pre-destined course- it was a nexus in the Force.

A terrible, foreboding world, Korriban radiated the pure, unadulterated power of the Dark Side, and (despite weakening in potency over the centuries since the defeat of the Sith millennia ago) it had grown stronger still since it's recapture mere decades ago, since the revival of the Academy and the nurture of such powerful beings as Darth Nox and the Lord Wrath himself.

However, today the nexus didn't show power, or even revel in both the misery of itself and others- it was fearful. It was scared.

It reeked of terror.

Korriban was the birthplace of the Sith, a symbol of its power and the home of both the Dark Council and the Sith Academy. Should it fall, the Empire would itself suffer a crippling blow in both morale and military strength.

This was known to many people, yet few had the resources and intellect to know how to do something about it, and bring those plans to fruition.

Revan, the Prodigal Knight, was one of the people who could. However, that Revan was dead, struck down on the Foundry in a desperate bid for victory in a weakened state.

The man whom walked in his body, equal to him as he may be in both power and skill, was not the Jedi hero who had died, nor was he the Dark Lord of the Sith struck down by his apprentice.

This 'Revan', was about to change the course of the galaxy forever, and not be defeated.

Since the battle of Ilum, plans had been altered and discarded, compared and analysed until only one course of victory was deemed acceptable. Before the battle, his plans had involved obliterating both the Republic and Imperial military leadership in a masterful series of events, yet that had changed- the resources that would be spent to once again equalize the conflict to a degree that his previous plan could be possible would be needless and wasteful.

As such, Revan decided, it was time to end a battle he had waged since the Mandalorian Wars.

It was time to end the Empire.

And Vitiate's downfall would commence, with Republic flagships dropping out of Hyperspace upon Korriban, whilst Tython remained tranquil, peaceful and defended.

This was why the nexus radiated a primal fear... Because the Invasion of Korriban had begun.

The Hero of Tython's cyan blade carved a line of blue plasma through the dust filled air of Korriban, his free hand reaching out to blast a charging Sith Marauder with a Force push that sent him hurtling into a group of approaching Imperial Soldiers, their armour muddied and tarnished by the climate of the surface they were defending.

Immediately following, the Republic's most renowned defender leapt forwards, over a shower of blaster bolts and –with the repulsive stench of ozone assaulting him- landed in the midst of a group of adversaries intent upon ending his life.

The shockwave which he created was strong enough to send them flying back dozens of meters, with them being incapable of standing up afterwards. An attacking Sorcerer unleashed a thundering bolt of lightning at him, but as soon as it reached his hand he grunted with effort and it shot back towards the source.

He paused. The Sorcerer's expression of shock was frozen, even as his own weapon surged inches away from him. It seemed as of then as if time had stopped, as he reached out with his senses- and spun around, barely quick enough to defend himself against a would-be lethal blow. The Knight stumbled backwards.

Any attempt to regain his balance was lost as his opponent activated the second end of his purple blade and surged forward, initiating a complex sequence of pushes and parries that forced a duellist even as advanced and competent as the Jedi Master onto his back-foot.

It was not enough. Even as the Sith increased the frequency and ferociousness of his attacks, so did the Jedi, and his were much more refined- instinctual even, whilst the other seemed to be forcing his Lightsaber through every motion, every sequence, regardless of the rapid pace through which they were commenced.

Inevitably, the Double-bladed Lightsaber's length proved to be its undoing, as the cyan blade carved through it. Should it have been an inferior combatant who was faced with this event, they would have been swiftly cut down… but this was no ordinary warrior.

He was the Heir of Kallig and Tulak Hord. He was the Head of the Sphere of Ancient Sorcery. He was Darth Nox, and he would not be defeated as easily as so many others had been.

As soon as his Lightsaber was destroyed, purple Lightning started dancing between his fingers.

The full force of the attack struck the Hero straight on- the only thing that stopped him from being killed instantly was the instinctual Force barrier barely put into place.

Nox' next attack overloaded the Hero's defences; a savage Force wave that sent him hurtling through the air like a rag doll. Despite this, the Jedi righted himself in the air, landing on the floor in a crouched position.

He ignored the aching of his legs. He focused instead on the demon in front of him: A cloaked monstrosity in a skull-like mask, eyes invisible but the place where they should be as black as space itself.

Once again, Nox fired Force Lightning upon his enemy, yet it was absorbed by the Hero's Lightsaber and- after seconds of more and more power being forced into it- was re-directed back at the Dark Lord.

Nox stepped nimbly to the side, and the Republic soldiers behind him were disintegrated.

Such was the power of the Dark Side.

Once more, like so many had before them, they charged at each other in expressions of Force-enhanced speed-but the Sith was not limited to such visually impressive displays; his pride worthless and honour non-existent, his hands spun in patterns forgotten by most, and the Hero's body slowed.

It seemed as if time was ignoring him, as he forced himself to move whilst bodies surged past him and blaster bolts narrowly missed him.

Nox's hand curled, and the Hero's fingers clawed at his neck as he felt himself being lifted up, his throat closing- and Lightning once more being poured into him.

He could feel his nerves being fried, his blood boiling and muscles screaming in absolute agony- yet he would not let that stop him. Not when victory over the Empire was so close.

With an unyielding will he broke the Dark Councillor's hold over him- and charged. This time, he would not be stopped. No amount of Sith Sorcery would control him, not after Vitiate.

Spells brushed off of him, lightning was redirected towards other targets, augmented strikes were evaded and, eventually, after seemingly hours of battle, Darth Nox was forced to the floor, a Lightsaber pointed at his heart.

The Hero's breaths came out ragged and gasping, his body screaming in protest as his allies swarmed past him, the Sith Academy looming above them both. Nox said nothing. He just stared.

There they stayed, the triumphant Jedi and the fallen Sith, as the war came to a conclusion around them.

"Commander," A voice came from behind them.

"Master Jedi, we've just received word from-"

Whatever words were about to be spoken, the Hero never learned. For at that moment, the black of Nox' eyes transformed into an ancient shade of purple, and both the Jedi and the Soldier were thrown into the architecture of the Academy with sickening cracks.

A rumbling noise seemed to emit from the captured Academy, as the Dark Lord rose.

From behind his cracked mask came a chilling, hateful sound- a voice, the Hero recognised.

"I will not allow the secrets of the Sith to fall into the hands of those who submit themselves as servants to the Light… but if it is necessary for me to die to preserve them, allow me to bring you all with me!"

As he announced this, he unleashed the full power at his disposal, not against his enemies, but the Academy itself.

It collapsed into a mere heap of rubble, burying the Hero of Tython and Darth Nox with the secrets of the Sith.


	4. Resurrection

"" _I will not allow the secrets of the Sith to fall into the hands of those who submit themselves as servants to the Light… but if it is necessary for me to die to preserve them, allow me to bring you all with me!"_

 _As he announced this, he unleashed the full power at his disposal, not against his enemies, but the Academy itself._

 _It collapsed into a mere heap of rubble, burying the Hero of Tython and Darth Nox with the secrets of the Sith."_ "

 **Fate of the Empire**

 **Chapter 4: Resurrection**

Dromund Kaas. The Empire's centre, where they had rested-in hiding- for over a thousand years, whilst they grew stronger, and the Republic, along with their mighty Jedi defenders, stagnated- resting in their unquestioned cradle of power, believing their people safe; protected, as the inhabitants of Kaas City did now.

The Imperial City was a sanctuary of bigotry, hypocrisy and overwhelming arrogance, its population consisting of a variety of mere merchants and vendors, to Sith of extremely high stature and 'formidable' members of Government and Politicians. If you had the honour of taking up a residence in this location, the consensus was that you were either very fortunate, or extremely unlucky.

A planet with a threatening nature both before and after the Empire's occupation, Dromund Kaas was the site where, millennia before, millions had laboured themselves with a mission to construct a monument to the power of their Emperor, the power the Sith Empire had once held, and the power they would wield once again- this was the Imperial Citadel. Towering high above all, the Citadel was a symbol of the Empire's returned prominence and power.

Three separate areas in total, the Citadel was composed of the Mandalorian Enclave, the Sith Sanctum, and the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters. These were an outward showing of the Empire's uniformity, meant to promote faith in a system that had ruined the lives of billions around the galaxy, whilst simultaneously striking fear into the very souls of both their opponents and their own population. In actuality, although few were willing to admit it, it was common knowledge among even the slightly-knowledgeable that tensions had rose to frightening heights between the 3 separate groups.

The interference of pretentious Sith into the sly business of the Imperial spy network was one that had seen many operations failed, the Empire itself facing numerous blows that had turned the tide of an almost won war. As such, it was only natural that many Sith Lords had met their end at the hands of Imperial Agents, and vice-versa.

Despite this, these disputes, however infuriating and frustrating they were to the Empire, had never weakened them to an extent that they had left them vulnerable to their enemies; themselves, certainly, yet the Empire had always been in a powerful enough position at the time of these petty, galaxy-wide squabbles that they had managed to survive any of the Republic's strikes with awe-inspiring resilience.

Yet it would take only the slightest knowledge of a single one of these disagreements to initiate a strategy that would leave the Empire vulnerable- a hole in a planet's defences, an overlooked flaw in co-ordination, a fleet's position becoming too visible.

Each of these had been exploited by the Republic at one time or another, yet like the greatest combatants and armies in history, the Empire refused to fall. They had always been capable of taking all their enemies had to offer, through sheer force of uncompromising will if necessary.

However, out of all of those past experiences, the Empire and Republic had both been fighting –primarily- without external interference. Neither were willing to consider the fact that they both shared the same infection; the same weakness, in their own people.

Each side has individuals with loyalties outside of their open allegiance, be it for one reason or another. All it would take would be one figurehead with a great enough strategic mind and inspirational persona to unite enough of these people under a single banner to allow for either, or both, of the Galactic factions to be crippled. All it would take, would be a single weakness being implemented in the defences of a planet for a single hour, for the outcome of the war become unavoidable.

And this would come to pass, with Republic ships dropping out of Hyperspace and raining fire upon the sabotaged Dromund Kaas.

Cruisers of both _Hammerhead_ and _Valor_ class, _Thranta_ and _Defender_ types of Corvettes, Starfighters and Support ships; hundreds of vessels came crashing into Imperial space, the Superdreadnought _Star of Coruscant_ leading the invasion that would, inevitably, see the Empire's defeat assured.

But it was not just the air that was seeing conflict; whilst Kaas City was being obliterated, the Citadel was being butchered, just as the Jedi Temple had years before.

Commander Jensyn's Lightsabers flew from his hands, slicing the body of a Sith Apprentice in half. A ferocious smile was carved upon his face, as corpse after corpse was left behind in his wake. His weapons emitted a blindingly bright blue, at odds with the bloody messes they were leaving behind.

He continued on his just rampage, until he felt a signature that emitted power like none other in the vicinity. Jensyn would have met his demise, had he not leapt out of the way of a lightning-quick strike from a figure in dark robes and light-weight armour.

Regaining his balance, Jensyn saw the yellow eyes of a dark side practitioner staring out of the Emperor's Wrath's demonic mask. A shiver unlike many he had experienced before crawled up his spine.

"The Emperor's Wrath… let's hope that-" Before Jensyn could finish speaking, his opponent had leapt towards him.

It became abundantly clear to the Jedi Commander as to who was the better fighter. Every time he would lunge, the Wrath would step out of the way; every time he swung, the Wrath would parry to a degree that left Jensyn stumbling; every time he co-ordinated his attacks with the environment around them, hiding his intent until it would be too late for the Wrath to possibly defend himself, the Sith Warrior seemingly predicted every single move- he anticipated every single manoeuver that Jensyn had, for all intents and purposes dancing out of the way until, finally, he fought back.

With the first true strike the Wrath initiated, he carved a line down Jensyn's face.

"AH!" Jensyn screamed, falling to his knees, barely rolling out of the way of the Sith's would-be finishing stroke.

"Hahaha," The Wrath chuckled, spinning his blade. "Another scar to match- you should be happy, _Jensyn_ , it helps cover to that disgustingly heroic face of yours!" It was not the words he spoke that infuriated the Jedi, but the joking, teasing tone through which he said them.

He was enjoying himself. He was toying with him!

Again Jensyn lunged, fury in his heart, yet once more the Wrath outwitted him, avoiding the blow. Jensyn roared, his hands spread out, and he called forth his power.

The Wrath should have been blown backwards, but the Dark Sider raised his free hand, and the Force push continued on its way, the only effect it had on its target being causing his robes to billow behind him.

An arrogant yell echoed out through the increasingly apocalyptic environment, and another Jedi invader charged at the Emperor's Wrath. Jensyn froze, his body raising into the air as he felt something happening in his throat- his obliviousness to the specifics, however, was not important, as his body was sent hurtling towards his ally.

The other Jedi –a Togruta with a golden blade- widened their eyes in shock and hurriedly, clumsily, lowered their weapon. Both of them were sent crashing to the floor as their bodies collided, and the Wrath released his hold over Jensyn.

The Jedi didn't hesitate; once he had control over his body again, he re-ignited his Lightsabers and hurled them at the Emperor's pawn. The Wrath's hand gestured, and Jensyn could feel his control of the weapons wrestled from his grasp. Guided by the demonic figure's outstretched fingers, his will overwhelming, the Lightsabers tore through body after body, slicing both Soldiers and Jedi alike in half, cutting through armour and flesh with equal ease.

A flurry of blaster bolts flew towards the apparently distracted Dark Lord, yet the Wrath's crimson blade spun in a dizzying pattern, and the blaster bolts returned to their source. The Soldiers' bodies fell to the floor.

Abandoning subtlety and calmness for recklessness and raw emotion, Jensyn charged at the murderer, knowing that it was a doomed approach, yet his power was not enough to offer any alternatives. For a moment he thought that he would –somehow- reach the Wrath, despite the latter's incredible power… and then he felt it. Burning pains in his heart, his nerves screaming in potent agony.

He glanced down, and saw both of his Lightsabers sticking out of his chest.

He dropped to his knees.

"It doesn't matter Sith… you can't win, there are too many of us… and even you cannot stop… what is to come…" Jensyn's corpse fell to the floor.

The Emperor's Wrath did not stop, did not offer any sign of respect towards the fallen. Instead, the Lightsabers lying on the floor leapt into the air, one shooting into the Wrath's hands, the offer attaching itself onto the interior of his robes.

Both blades ignited, and the Empire's Wrath re-joined the battle. The first thing he did was separate the Togruta Jedi's head from the rest of the body.

Revan's masked face was contorted in concentration. Power was oozing out of him in waves, his mind debating, for a fraction of a second, whether or not it was possible to unleash such expressions of potency without suffering physically altering changes.

In the end, he mused, the effects of the ritual on him were of no consequence. Even if he did succeed in slaying Vitiate, (an achievement he did not doubt himself capable of) the chances of him surviving his conflict with the Dark Lord were extremely limited. Should he remain alive, he would be in too weak a predicament to generate any resistance against the invading Republic or surviving Imperials.

In the event that the former found him, he would be taken into custody, only to be executed upon the knowledge that he had resurrected Vitiate –temporarily as it may be- was unveiled, regardless of whether or not he revealed that it had been he who had manufactured Dromund Kaas' fatal vulnerability, and thus been responsible for ending the Empire.

Should it be the latter who found him, he would be killed on sight.

The thought made Revan more than a little infuriated, indignant even, yet he was not worrying over his fate after the battle. As much as he had changed over the long, long years of his life, his mind warping to fit the predicament the Galaxy was, he retained enough of his original self, his true self, to know that his was a story that should have long since culminated.

Idly, Revan wondered what kind of state the Galaxy would be in if his tale had ceased those centuries before; maybe it would be safer, maybe it would be in even graver danger, or maybe it would have fallen- victimised by a faction that had somehow been foiled in the timeline.

Regardless, those thoughts were pointless. Dwelling on impossible scenarios and what may have been were irrelevant when compared to reality, and he could not afford to feel nostalgic when he was about to face the monster that had robbed him from his will… and his family.

His family. Bastila. Vaner.

Vitiate had stolen from him the chance to watch his son grow; had robbed him of a life spent with Bastila.

Like so many times previously, a surge of anger rose within him like a dreaded best, a monster which the very existence of gave Revan a power he had never experienced before it's conception.

The knowledge of when this beast was conceived was unknown to Revan, yet he estimated that the origin began when he died, his mind gaining a renewed focus, fuelled by vengeance, his power directed solely towards obliterating the one that had robbed him of the life he should have had.

Once more, Revan was forced back to reality, yet it was not he who did so. It was a change in the Force, a ripple in the still wind, a swirling, blazing invisible power that hung everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Revan knew what this was.

Instantaneously, his Lightsabers stood ignited in his hands, one red and one purple, twirling their dazzling colours in the silent temple- a location which, even on a nexus such as Dromund Kaas' stature, radiated the Dark Side like an oozing wound.

Thoughts once more invaded his mind, images of his previous defeat at the Emperor's hands, as well as brief memories of him moving his blades so many times before.

The same motions. The same memories. But never the same man, no matter how much he might long to be so.

And at once Revan knew that it had not been his responsibility for experiencing recollections of his past, but the machinations of a being who's telepathic prowess was unrivalled throughout history. A savage grunt escaped him, leaving his mask in a mechanical, unnatural tone.

The stone, antiquated table upon which rested nothing but dust was rapidly breaking into millions of pieces; the walls themselves, ritualistic symbols adorning them in prehistoric patterns, seemed to be shaking, incapable of sustaining the presence of such awesome power.

The skin underneath Revan's mask began to feel damp, his uncut hair beginning to stick to his scalp under the scorching heat which he had grown so accustomed to; sweat, Revan recognised. It was inevitable, he had previously conceded, that when the confrontation was about to finally commence, that nervousness would infect him, attempting to poison his judgment and weakening any resolve he had gained in the centuries gone by.

Such fallacies were common to anyone, yet Revan would not, could not, allow his doubts to control him. He had never done so before, and he never would in the future- not when facing Vitiate, or whatever came after.

Cursing the increasingly uncomfortable clothing, Revan's hands tightened around his Lightsabers. Once, the soothing metal would have calmed him, yet his armoured gloves would not allow for such pleasantries, even with the crystals reaching out, yearning to grant him either condemnation or verification.

Revan did not know how the duel would begin; he only knew how it would end- how it must end.

Dimly, as if from a great distance, he heard mutterings and increasingly rapid breathing from behind him; Revanites, loyal to the core, tasked with guarding the entrance so as to deny outside interference. Of course they would have felt it, Revan realised; they were Force sensitive- it was inevitable for anyone even remotely attuned to the Force to feel the changes that Vitiate's return would bring.

Still, with them being so close and so unprepared… Revan did not want to consider what the future held for them. Yet their fates were, like his, irrelevant. That being, their bravery was commendable, be it born out of misplaced arrogance, blind faith, or refusal to accept defeat.

A voice that echoed with the stolen souls of more than Revan could ever recognise.

"You wanted my return… your arrogance knows no boundaries, Revan… You have allowed the scores of death to nourish me, and in doing so, I am awakened… And I bring with me… DEATH!"

An impossible purple light began in the centre of the expansive chamber, a whirlwind forming at the epicentre… and spreading, expanding like a virus. The violet light seemed to harden, to focus into a single beam that, in an act of supreme power, fired out into the sky with the Force of a God.

The roof was mere water in comparison- it could do nothing to halt the amount of pure darkness that was being channelled through it.

Revan's knees weakened, his muscles instantaneously tiring and his mind yearning for rest. He attempted to fight whatever was causing this, but it seemed as though his power and skill in the Force had been drained away utterly.

He fell, and his knees caused pain to be transmitted through his nerves as they crashed onto the stone beneath him, the extent multiplied by the omnipresent darkness infecting the Galaxy. His weapons were out of his hands, his palms on the floor as his heart pounded within his chest. Revan could feel his eyelids dropping, could feel blood spilling out of his mouth and trapping behind his mask, already sticking to his flesh.

He let out quickening gasps as he tried to stand, the beam continuing on its course- he could feel something, something happening in the Force, something around him; it seemed as though someone was whispering to him, but he could not hear over his own pained body.

It seemed as though he was being ripped out of life itself.

And then it was over.

Revan collapsed backwards, his body screaming in displeasure and every muscle in him crying out.

He reached up, and ripped the mask from his face in an almost desperate fashion. The Mandalorian mask was hurled to the floor, and Revan pulled of his gloves like a man possessed.

As soon as he felt the air sting his scarred hands, he pressed them against his face. For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, he felt his own skin- his own identity.

His heart rate slowed, his body coming back under his control. Revan took his hands away from his face, seeing splatters of blood on them as they were drawn away. He threw his head back, and felt his hood fall backwards. Combing his hands through his hair, he finally felt his pulse return to normal.

Instead of moving, he just stayed there, collapsed on the floor. He stayed there for a length of time that he could not count, just resting as he felt his power steadily return. The war veteran groaned as he moved his neck; he felt his bones crack, as if he had not moved them for years.

Carefully, he helped himself to his feet, constantly making sure to keep his balance- it felt as if it was being precariously held on a knife point, where a single gust of wind could topple it. Like his neck, Revan was aware of each of his bones cracking, aware of every individual muscle as it worked, pumped and transmitted their antiquated dissent at having to continue their duty three hundred years after their creation. At least, that was the way that Revan's suspiciously groggy mind translated the seemingly explanation-less state of his body.

As soon as he ascended to his feet, Revan glanced around the temple- the walls remained as they had before; in fact the only noticeable difference was that an extra layer of dust was covering the floor than before. Tilting his head, (and wincing at hearing a loud 'crack') Revan saw his mask staring at him. Even though it had only lay on the floor for a matter of minutes at maximum, dust had already settled upon it.

Bending down, Revan lifted the mask into the air, staring at it as if he was measuring it, as if he was seeing something no one else could possibly see. His face lacked expression, yet it was as if he had not laid eyes upon it for years. Absent-mindedly brushing of the dust, Revan glanced towards the ceiling; he was not surprised by the large hole in the roof, yet what shocked him was the sky; it was red as human blood.

The continuous lightning of Dromund Kaas was still looming within and shooting from the crimson clouds with a ferocious anger, yet it was as if it was muted; there was no roar of thunder to accompany the strike of lightning, the only sound in the air being Revan's own even breathing.

Revan spun around, his mask slipping into a concealed pocket in his robes, and his free hand cutting through the choking air; his Lightsabers came flying into it.

Noticing the warmth of one blade and the unwavering coldness of the other, Revan hooked the weapons upon his belt and marched forward at a brisk pace, only stopping at where the Revanites had been not ten minutes before.

Where should have been bodies, actual people, were nothing but piles of clothes upon the floor, the amount of dust greater in this location than any other in the Temple.

And Revan knew why.

Instead of walking, Revan sprinted into a run, not even noticing as the walls started passing in a blur, as was the extent of his enhanced speed.

Reaching out with the Force and tearing open the Temple door with a mastery and control that had avoided him in the previous hours, Revan's mind was a waterfall of cascading thoughts, each individually imperative to the overall process, awe-inspiring in their complexity and impossible to focus on individually. Plans considered themselves and compared themselves, theories regarded and discarded at a speed superior to even the most advanced alien cultures.

As soon as he sped through the door, Revan's soul almost shattered.

The planet radiated death- despair. He could feel the cries of millions as they had felt their deaths approach through the Force, he could feel the emptiness of the planet and the amount of Dark power that had infected it now like only one other in the Galaxy's history.

He was alone on this world now. Everyone was dead.

And it was all his fault.


End file.
